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Jones, a former superhero, opens her own detective agency after an end to her superhero career. Plagued by self-loathing, and a wicked case of PTSD, Jones battles demons from within and without, using her extraordinary abilities as an unlikely champion for those in need, especially if they're willing to cut her a cheque.
Jones is a darkly compelling anti-heroine, as richly drawn as Tony Soprano or Mad Men's Don Draper. She deserves better than this formulaic escapade that drably blends crime procedural and comic book cliches.
Netflix's Jessica Jones is a proud addition to that pantheon, wrapping one of the best TV shows of the year in a woman's struggle to defeat the abuser who nearly ruined her life.
The cast treats the dime-novel dialogue ("I don't flirt. I just say what I want.") with such richness that you won't miss the explosions that often deafen other shows in the genre.
Jessica Jones is well-executed on the level we've come to expect from Netflix-produced series, featuring a top-notch cast, solid writing and great use of its New York location to invoke both classic noir and '70s cinema.
Embarrassing as it is to admit, it is only now, at twenty four years old that I am longing to be a superhero. Because Jessica Jones doesn't have to smile. Jessica Jones can be angry. Jessica Jones can say no.